#the amount of references I went through to settle on his design wow

[sun-e-chips]

Finally finished moons design for the waterpark au yay!

[incoherentbabblings]

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (4/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect. Ao3 Link Here!

Tim had no idea there was such a market for wedding planners. He imagined most people planned it themselves. Stephanie had made the very valid point that neither of them had time. Apparently, because she maybe still hated herself a little, she chose possibly the most ridiculous looking woman who came at an equally ridiculous price tag.

“Why’d you choose her?” Tim asked, as the two paced back and forth in one of the drawing rooms of Wayne Manor.

Stephanie was picking a hanging nail. “She had stupid glasses.” She muttered. “Her website screamed ostentatious. That’s what we want right?”

“Well yeah but –”

Alfred opened the door for Mrs van Dijk, and Tim couldn’t help but mutter a curse at the sight of her. Stephanie caught Alfred’s face as he shut the door, to which she noted he seemed quite relieved to be rid of the woman.

Bottle eyed didn’t do it justice. Her glasses seemed an inch thick, and they took up half her face. Humongous brown pupils peered through at Tim as Stephanie very quickly made her way over to him, holding onto his shirt and showing off the ring. Mrs van Dijk’s clothes were seemingly made from rags, and various bits draped across the floor. Her nose was tiny, upturned and pointy. Her teeth were too big for her mouth. She grinned maniacally at the sight of the young couple. She herself somehow looked sixty and thirty at the same time.

Stephanie had picked a winner surely.

“Oh, how happy I am to meet you! I thought for sure I was being pranked when you rang me!” She looked and wandered around the room, utterly fascinated. “And at Wayne Manor no less. I am the luckiest person in the world… Do you mind if I just put my bags here?” The four assorted totes and satchels and rucksacks seemed a bit excessive to Tim, but he nodded, not quite sure what to say. She slapped them down with a delighted squeal.

Nails on a chalkboard. Tim smiled, baring his teeth as they clenched together uncomfortably. Stephanie stepped in, being on the ball for once.

“Thank you for agreeing to help us! And on such short notice too.”

“It’s going to be a rush to get everything done in time.” Tim confirmed.

They all sat down, but then Mrs van Dijk decided she was too far away and stood up. She settled in between Tim and Stephanie, both of whom flinched at having a stranger be so close. They flinched again when she took a hand each and tugged them onto her lap, a little pile of happy hands. Happy sweaty hands. Tim shivered up his spine, and Stephanie’s left leg spasmed at the uncomfortableness of it all.

“I have had a think the past two days.” Van Dijk said earnestly. “You said, Stephanie, you wanted the grandest wedding Wayne money could provide.”

“Yup.”

“I am going to work a little unconventionally. A little traditionally. But you two are the most important clients of my career. I will give you the world.”

“…Thanks.” Tim responded lamely.

“In my thoughts, I see the Cathedral.”

Neither Tim nor Steph were religious.

“I see gold and white.”

Neither were colours they wore nor sought out.

“Carnations for flowers.”

Carnations were for funerals. Tim and Stephanie knew this very well.

“I see the reception here, in the gardens.”

The weather was never good enough to guarantee any event outside.

“And your gown…”

There, Stephanie could not cave in. “I want Rebecca Andrews.”

“Oop! Pardon?” By now word had spread that she was a cursed designer.

“I have my heart set on her you see… Ever since I was younger.”

“…But I… I brought books!” She threw their hands off her lap, Tim rubbing his freed palm against his trousers as the woman fumbled through the tote, tugging out three lever arch files.

“Oh wow… you really prepped for this.”

“I told you! I will give you the world.” And then she sat down, tossing one folder to Tim, and one to Stephanie. Slapping her own open, Mrs van Rijk flipped through pages until she found examples to show Stephanie.

“See? Oh, Mr Wayne wouldn’t you die to see her in this?”

Tim struggled not to swear. “Oh boy.” He said instead.

That seemed too many ruffles for one human body.

Stephanie blinked, and agreed. “No no. I’m sorry, but this is the one area I must put my foot down.”

“…Even though…”

Stephanie smiled reassuringly, and confirmed, “Even though.”

Mrs van Rijk stared at the huge taffeta construction and sighed sadly. “One day I will get a bride in one of these… Nevermind. I will arrange an appointment with Ms Andrews. Funny lady that one.” As she put the folders back, Tim shot Stephanie a look which amounted to kettle meet pot.

Otherwise, they went with whatever this lady suggested. The only thing both Tim and Steph genuinely liked the idea of was a lemon cake rather than a fruit cake. They told themselves that because it maybe wasn’t even going to reach the altar, what they wanted didn’t really matter. Details were details. What mattered was ensuring they were a target.

Stephanie proceeded to go on a coffee date with Cassandra, who gave the evils in her characteristic manner to anyone creeping to close, and a trip to the arcade with Damian, who grumbled and pretended to shoot a photographer with one of the guns for a zombie shooting game, until Stephanie called him over with the food she had bought him. Tim uploaded an old photograph of them when they were fifteen to his social media pages. Bruce mysteriously went to visit Crystal’s hospital when she was on shift, ensuring that she was seen chatting the Mr Wayne. The picture that went in the news was not the most flattering of Mrs Brown – her expression was nothing short of mystified and in awe that Gotham’s favourite child was talking to her – but it served the same goal as the other outings.

The family was doing everything they could to prove that Stephanie was not just someone out of the blue who had stepped into the role of fiancée for Tim. She was a Gotham girl through and through, her mother worked an admirable job, she was known by the family and spent time with them independent of Tim…Older photos began to be circulated. Old school photos when they both attended Gotham Heights were circulated, as was the fact that she was a student in her final year of Gotham College who volunteered at the clinic on Park Row, just around the corner from Tim’s social housing redevelopment project.

Don’t think of this girl as an upstart, they were practically begging, she’d been a part of Tim and Cassandra and Damian and Bruce’s lives long before anyone cared. Tim, who actually braved reading comments and replies, noted that, for the most part…well they weren’t flat out insulting her. Or him.

For the most part.

That counted for a lot.

Though some of them…

Thankfully Bruce and Dick over many years had cultivated a stock image of a slightly batshit (hah) bonkers family that only seemed to grow with the years in equally odd members. Off kilter, sure, but overall a good family. Thank goodness for Gotham stereotypes.

Next step in becoming a target – an engagement photo shoot.

Tim was not even aware these were a thing, but found himself standing in a full suit a mere three days later. Images to be posted amongst societies circles and to be sent with rsvp invitations. This had been it’s own conflict. None of their superhero friends has been invited, but indeed to everyone, this was for real. Tim had ignored the Titans for days at this point, unable to explain what was going on. There was no pithy explanation.

He had been given a black tux, a dark red suit, a navy shirt and chinos, and a pot of hair gel to style himself. Stephanie, meanwhile, was upstairs, with a veritable army of beauticians, hairdressers and too many dresses to count.

It was raining, because of course it was. But the photography studio had insisted on going forward in the manor gardens.

“We can make it look real Austen and shit.”

Tim really didn’t understand the man’s reference. Said man was holding a camera with a very large lens that Tim suspected wasn’t necessary for this kind of shoot. He had sunglasses on, despite the weather, so Tim knew he was very cool. The four assistants who had been with Stephanie trotted down the stairs, moving quickly to set up lighting. All four looked a little dissapointed, but whatever reason Tim didn't understand.

"Okay?" He asked.

One got in Tim’s face and began fixing his hair. He instinctively flinched away from a stranger in his personal space, but quickly smiled apologetically and allowed her to resume. His gut churned from enduring the uncomfortable closeness.

"It's fine. We just... she's been hurt quite bad hasn't she?"

Tim flinched completely away. It seemed the look in his eyes was enough to make the lady look to the floor, and find something else to work on. Tim's protectiveness was flaring, and he knew it was making others uncomfortable. But he also doubted it was as uncomfortable as Stephanie was having strangers examine her body like that.

“Am I okay to come down now?” Stephanie’s voice drifted in from the top of the staircase, providing a welcome distraction.

The man (Tim couldn’t for the life of him remember the name) immediately became effusive.

“Of course, princess! Let’s see you. You’re in the red dress, right?”

“…Yeah.”

She poked her head around the corner and stared at Tim. She sighed sharply at how handsome he looked. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Can I hold onto you walking down? It’s a lot of skirt…”

Tim didn’t care that she was blatantly lying. He hopped up to the top step, holding out his hand for her to take. When she did take, still half hidden behind the wall, Tim felt her trembling. He looked at her inquisitively.

“My scars…” Was all she could say. She was bent over, blonde hair curled to look like Sleeping Beauty’s. The assistants who had done her hair had made the decision to have it all down in order to hide her upper back, shoulders, collar and arms. She was wearing flowers in her hair, and her makeup made her look otherworldly. Tim realised it was all to draw attention upwards, away from her torso.

Tim squeezed her fingers. Stephanie as a rule did not show skin... not since Black Mask.

“You wore that purple dress, remember? The one I got you? That showed more skin.” He tried to remind her, so she could logic her way up to being confident in the beautiful dresses.

She only shook her head, and he could see her eyes growing frenetic with an increasing panic.

“No-one was paying attention, not like this. People are going to see me.”

He stepped closer, creating a bubble around them that made Steph’s breathing quieten, and her back straightened. Saying she was beautiful wasn’t going to work. Some of her scars, little that he had seen, were not beautiful. He wouldn’t lie to himself and say they were. Stephanie was beautiful; the injuries, the torn skin, the white shiny scars, the mangled puckered wounds… there was no beauty in the experiences that created them. No amount of sweet talking would convince her nor the world of it. But that didn’t mean she was lesser for it. Not even close. He stared straight into her eyes, praying he looked reassuring.

“It’s okay.”

She nodded, and gently, encouragingly, he tugged her forward into the viewpoint of the photography team. It was a strapless crimson gown, with a sweetheart neckline and a large wide skirt that made her waist tiny. The photographer hissed. She looked lovely, but some scars shined in the artificial light. It was going to make tidying up the images awkward.

“Oh.” He stated. Stephanie immediately hid behind Tim, feeling humiliated. “Do we want to hide these in post? Or are we drawing...”

Tim glared in an intensely threatening manner, and the man coughed, correcting himself.

“Doesn’t matter. You both look like royalty. Every time I do one of these shoots… but this must be one of the best.”

His team twittered like little birds in agreement. Stephanie struggled not to roll her eyes at the weak save.

Shots were taken of them walking down the stairs, though Stephanie did manage to trip of the final step, crumpling in a heap on the floor. The man had ensured she was okay, then demanded she remain there. Tim was forced to sit behind her, two or three steps up.

“Fix her hair and dress.” The man commanded. Immediately her position was altered, and her hair was pulled to cover certain patches of skin. Her breathing wobbled.

She wasn’t good enough.

A little off put by having so many people fuss over her, Stephanie reached upwards. Tim gave her his hand, and then quickly, unthinkingly, pressed a kiss to the back of her head. He watched as goosebumps trailed up her back, and he cursed himself a little for even attempting to comfort her.

“Oh!” Shouted the man. “Hold that. Her ring looks good.”

There were four outfits and locations in total – the strapless red gown for Tim’s black tux in the main staircase being the first. For the Thomas Wayne’s library Stephanie perched herself on a leather loveseat armrest, sitting awkwardly and slightly off to the side in her insecurity. Tim had his bowtie removed and three buttons undone, to which he promptly redid one. Stephanie was changed into an off the shoulder green dress with sleeves that split open to expose her arms and hit the floor. The gown had such a deep neckline that Tim’s eyes were drawn to a white scar that went up her sternum. She caught him looking and hissed like an angry cat, unsure if he was staring at her chest or the wound. The golden gown, the one that looked like rays of sun, for the shots in the conservatory was beautiful, but again, Tim could see she was growing increasingly uncomfortable with both the attention and exposure. Repeatedly for couple shots she would start to migrate behind Tim, half hidden away until called out and forced forward. Tim found he couldn’t say anything in front of the photography crew to comfort her. He kept some part of himself connected to her, hoping the touch would ground her. Obviously this was not an option for the solo shots.

She seemed much happier with the final dress. A shorter purple dress with feathers all along the hem. It had a high neck and long sleeves. Tim couldn’t help it, he laughed as she brushed through the bird feathers. She shivered in her bare legs though and begged to put on a pair of tights. The man narrowed his eyes, or at least Tim thought he did behind those glasses, but agreed.

“Some posed shots.” He said, staring down into his viewfinder. “Then go frolic outside.”

“Frolic?” Stephanie raised on eyebrow, and Tim mirrored it.

“Outside?”

Tim took off his blazer as he and Stephanie questioned the photographer in between snaps being taken. Steph grabbed a hold of Tim’s shoulder to balance as she zipped up a boot. The rain was coming down as hard as ever.

“Yes. We need some natural shots.”

His assistant opened the double window doors, cold air blasting its way in. Rainwater dripped inside, and Tim shuddered at the fit Alfred would have. The water crept dangerously close to one of the rugs, and even Stephanie made a panicked oomph noise, and she rushed out front into the pouring rain, hoping that the quicker this round was done the sooner these people would pack up and leave and she could return to flat shoes. Her heels were starting to ache to the point of distraction.

Tim rushed out after her, resisting the urge to yell at the frigid water which immediately soaked him to the bone. Stephanie looked back at him, her dress clinging in all the right ways, hair a sodden blanket. She was laughing from the shock of how cold it was.

“I can’t believe you agreed to this?” He yelled over the sound of the rain hitting the paving stones. Stephanie just laughed and held out her arms for him to step into. Her makeup was starting to run, but rather than making her look like a drowned rat, she looked lively and bright. Her face flushed red from the cold, and Tim willingly went straight into her hold.

She brushed his wet hair out of his eyes, grinning at the face she saw underneath. Still so pale, with such dark bruises under his eyes. Still not sleeping well. But he was happy, at least for the moment. She didn’t want her moodiness ruin that for him.

Stephanie couldn’t get that moment of the kiss to her hair out of her mind, nor could Tim stop thinking about the declaration of love and kiss on the lips she had given him last week. They were stumbling in the dark, seeking physical comfort in each other, and both knew how dangerous it was. Simultaneously, and without mentioning it to the other, they resolved to corner the other. Soon.

Until then, when the photographer called for them to kiss, it was Stephanie who cradled Tim’s face and pulled him close. It was the kind of kiss that they made when they were adolescents: enthusiastic, clumsy, but infatuated. Stephanie tried to convince herself that it was just another kiss for the job, like the ones one their dates and engagement dinners, but as always the sharp stab of enjoyment that came with Tim’s smiling kisses made her shiver and doubt. She squished his cheeks and laughed when they broke apart, and when she tried to leave Tim’s hold and playfully pulled her back around her waist, tossing out further into the rain so he could run inside before her.

She collapsed in, ankles a little wobbly, grimacing at the water they had allowed into the room. Tim shut the windows and huffed.

“Perfect.”

Remembering they had been watched, the redness in Stephanie’s skin vanished, and she resumed staring at her feet, shuffling backwards behind Tim.

Hair dripping wet, and conscious that the pair might catch a cold, Tim tried to be genial when he asked if they were done. The man bared his teeth and he flipped through the images. He didn’t look totally satisfied.

“I don’t know… Can we go for some more artsy stuff? You guys got a ballroom, right? You two are such a good pair…I just want some more to play around with.”

Stephanie stumbled in her shoes, growing more tired by the moment. Tim began to shiver. One of the assistants not so subtly nudged the man, letting him now his time was up.

Bruce in one his blessed moments of good timing, had at some point begun watching through the open door to the drawing room, seemed to realise that Tim and Steph had also had enough.

“Thank you, Mr Hare, but I’m going to have to ask you to wrap up. Let my kids dry up.”

Being referred to one of Bruce’s own made Stephanie stare in open shock, whilst Tim looked gratefully at him, giving a small smile.

“Oh.” Said Mr Hare – Tim tried to not feel guilty at not knowing his name for the entire shoot – and finally he took the hint. “No worries. This was a good session! Listen, I’ll send them when their done to van Rijk. She’s a beast, will probably want them tomorrow if I know her.”

Bruce smiled politely and indicated for Alfred to begin showing them out.

Tim’s shivering had grown worse, and Stephanie noticing this, rushed to one of the sofas which had a cream throw resting over the back to cradle Tim within.

“Rub your chest if it’s gets unbearable.” She uttered, “That’s where all the important bits are.”

Tim smiled, teeth chattering. “Minus a spleen.”

“Huh?” She looked at him, confused.

“I… Oh. I never told you?”

She tilted her head, gears turning ever so slowly in her head. “That you don’t have a spleen? Tim! You’ll get sicker easier and worse!”

She managed to kick off her shoes and moved in closer, tugging the throw around them both. With the assistants out of the room, Tim grew somewhat warmer knowing she was being genuinely caring in this moment.

“How long ago?” She asked, shifting so she could keep them both somewhat warm.

“Um…” Tim looked at Bruce helping Alfred escort the team of the estate. “When I first went looking for him. Got stabbed.”

Her breath warmed his neck, and her fingers drifted down to where his scar was. She cooed when he twitched as if her touch hurt him, but to Tim it felt like a bolt of electricity had passed straight down his spine. He told himself it was because of the static from the rain and humidity.

Bruce watched the group begin to pack up, both ensuring they had left with all their equipment but also listening to their conversation, trying to not to smile.

“I think…” He interrupted, and the pair jolted at the reminder that someone else was in sight of them. “You both should shower up. Then a quick word with you both.”

Stephanie was the first to break away.

“Can I use Cass’ room?”

“We have a spare room if you want it. We have loads of spare rooms.” Tim hinted.

Steph didn’t take the hint. “Cass’ is fine.”

Bruce, however, did hear the hint, and in a rare moment of paternal ingenuity, decided to throw a little bomb into the mix.

“When is Stephanie moving into your apartment, Tim?”

Stephanie, who had no idea such an idea was on offer, gulped. Tim, also appeared a little thrown.

“I… I…”

“I’ve never even been to your apartment.”

“Well, there’s your chance.” Bruce said. “Now hurry up, before Alfred sees the state of the floors.”

Bruce’s edict was law, and reluctantly Crystal agreed for Stephanie to move out.

When it came to moving in with Tim, Stephanie was surprised how easy it was. She really didn’t own that much stuff to begin with, and Tim had a lot of spare space.

Tim’s apartment, based in Park Row no less, was large, and took up two floors. He seemed awful proud of it. Steph didn’t miss the piano sat in the corner but chose not to comment.

“One of your projects?”

Tim huffed, thinking she was diminishing his efforts with Park Row. He was lifting her suitcases up the stairs. “Well, the redevelopment is as good as I make it… And I live here… so you know, I stand by it being good.”

“Hmm.” She set one of four boxes on the couch. Hard and square, it didn’t lend itself to resting and relaxing. Tim had probably chosen it for the aesthetics more than anything, and was likely cursing himself that he had offered to sleep on it whilst Stephanie took his own bed. Glaring at the obnoxious chandelier which hung down from the open space of the ceiling of the first floor down to just above their heads on the first, she hummed to herself.

“These aren’t…I…”

Tim waited patiently at the top of the steps for her to finish.

“How did you make sure you haven't just gentrified the area?”

Tim put down her suitcases, practically skipping down the steps to get to her level, a little put off with her question. “You worried I kicked poor people out of Crime Alley?”

Stephanie blushed, and defended herself. “Not intentionally.”

“No. Not intentionally. Not unintentionally either.” He scoffed, but before he could turn way, Stephanie halted him.

“How then?”

Tim couldn’t hear the sincerity in her tone, instead he heard patronising accusations. His temper flared unexpectedly. She still could rile him up like no other. “You care?”

As could he to her, apparently. Her blush turned to a flush of red anger, and her defensiveness became aggressive.

“What kind of question is that? Do I care about your job? The unprivileged? Gotham in general?” She waved her hands. “Nevermind. Not if you’re gonna take everything like an attack.”

With a whirl that smacked Tim in the face with her long ponytail, he flinched back and watched her drag another box in. It was too heavy for one person, and she was going to hurt her back in her stubbornness.

“Steph, let me help.”

“I’m fine.”

“Steph –”

“You don’t always need to be so –”

“You know you can accept help from –”

The pair trailed off, both bent awkwardly over a box, glaring at each other. Stephanie was the first to break, groaning in a tantrum and stomping up the steps. She looked down over the railing to Tim looking up at her.

“You honestly don’t have a spare room?”

“No. The other room is an office and a bathroom. It’s just for a few more weeks… I made space in my closet for you.”

“Thanks. Real generous there, Timbo.”

Her sarcasm was biting, and Tim felt the childish urge to stick his tongue out at her. She vanished from sight though, rolling her clothes through to his bedroom. Kicking the box at his feet, his eyes widened in shock at how heavy was, and he stumbled away.

“What she got in here… boulders?”

Dragging it into the hallway, Tim popped outside to see Crystal driving away, the two remaining boxes left at the foot of the steps to the door. They were lighter than the box of bricks, and once they were inside Tim shut the front door. Stephanie was still upstairs, so was likely unpacking her clothes.

Opening the heavy box in some grim determination to be vindicated in its contents, he was instead met with a box filled with stuffed soft toys.

She still held onto them? At the top of was a somewhat familiar teddy bear. She had held onto it and smacked him with it playfully on occasion. When he had visited her to tell her he was having to leave Gotham… when she was pregnant, when she didn’t know his name or anything about his parents or who was behind that mask… all she had known was this boy had – for some unknown reason – chosen to stay with her, to spend time with her. She had taken a lot of convincing over two years it was because Tim genuinely loved her, and it wasn’t out of some Bat driven duty to be kind to those weaker than you. By the time she believed it herself, she had seen Tim kissing someone (someone who she now knew he didn’t want to be kissed by) and everything had gone down the crapper. Seeing that stuffed bear affected him more than he expected.

Resting under it was the duck he had won her the other week. Its silly face peering out from under the other toys made him laugh despite his tense mood.

He picked up both toys and walked up the stairs. In his room, Steph was piling her shoes into a corner of the closet. Tim set the duck down on a table that rested at the foot of his bed.

“You kept this?” Tim asked, waving the teddy.

Stephanie gasped, clumsily pulling herself off the floor, and reached out to take it. Tim snatched it back.

“Give it.” She cried.

“Did you seriously bring everything? I could have helped you pack. Even the toys.”

She seemed increasingly upset, when Tim was only trying to tease. “I’m serious Tim, give it.”

He didn’t give way, so in her frustration, she shoved him. Hard. No damage was done, but the look of horror on her face at becoming physical like that with him made Tim’s stomach drop more than anything.

Her face turned white and she begged, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Tim really didn’t know what to do with her constant mood swings, so awkwardly returned her bear to her. She nearly ripped it out of his hands and cradled it reverently.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have made fun of you. I just thought it was sweet, that you held onto this stuff.”

In her hands, Stephanie looked down at the bear. When she spoke, it was near a whisper.

“My dad bought it for me.”

“He did?”

“Mmm. When he was… when he was trying to be better.” Her look grew angry then. “I don’t know why I keep it.”

Without thinking, she plopped on her bed, staring at nothing. Tim realised he needed to intervene, and quick. He sat next to her and took one of her hands in both of his.

“We need to talk, I think.”

Dropping the bear, her other hand joined the three. Tim tried not to shiver at the warmth. “Me too.”

“Let’s get the rest of your stuff in, yeah? Is it all for upstairs?”

“I have some photo albums. And a couple of things for the kitchen. Figured you didn’t cook much.”

“Not really.”

She pulled their pile of hands into her lap, her look growing softer by the moment.

“Then I’ll cook tonight? First meal in a new place. Be a good wifey and all that.”

Tim tried not to imagine Stephanie with rollers in her hair, red lips and a frilly apron holding an apple pie. He failed. “Can’t comment on the contents of my fridge.”

“That’s okay.” She stood up, wandering down to the yellow duck. She pinched its orange beak. “Tim?”

“Mm?”

“I am genuinely interested in your work. I’m not being accusatory about that.”

“Thank you, Steph.”

She smiled, but it was sad.

With one box filled with stuffed toys, it truly didn’t take long for Tim to help her move the rest of her stuff into his room. Photos proceeded to take up free surface space, and Tim’s bathroom quickly became filled with so many items for the bath that his mind drifted to the idea of Stephanie. In his tub. In his apartment. He burned red for the rest of the afternoon, his brain not allowing him to let go of her soaking in bubbles.

There was one that smelled like cola candy that he liked, but it was at that point he decided he was being creepy, and wandered back downstairs, to find his fiancée’s head rammed in the fridge.

“Alright there?”

“Garlic…red onion… half a pepper…” Her muffled voice was amused. “Butter… cheese… milk.” She shut the door, hands full of everything except the milk. “Pretty standard student fridge contents huh?”

“I’m not a student.”

“Nah, but you have twenty-year-old brain anyway. We’re all messes.” She looked at the ingredients in her arms. “I can do something with this. You good a stirring?”

“I have movement in my wrists.”

She smiled. “Then grab me a knife, cutting board, pot and frying pan?” When he did, she jerked her head over to the sink. “Fill the pot three quarters up and throw a chunk of salt in. When it boils – two mugs of pasta and stir.”

It was a simple quick dish, but she gave Tim enough instructions to make him feel like he somewhat contributed to the food that she made. Sitting with her at the counter, watching her pile cheese higher and higher into her bowl, made him feel content in a manner he didn’t feel often in his home.

When they were finished, Tim stared into his empty bowl gathering the courage to say,

“We should talk.”

Stephanie beat him to it. Tim picked up the dishes, hand shaking a little.

“I’ll wash up.”

She reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist gently. If he wanted, he could pull away without being violent, but he held still. Steph looked at him, trying to make him understand.

“It can wait a little bit.”

She was right, but Tim couldn’t shake his nerves. He set the bowls down, then sat back on the stool.

Stephanie’s hand shifted, and then suddenly they were interlocking fingers.

“Tim…” She began, and she was unable to look at him as much as he for her. “How much of this is real for you?”

Tim had told Dick he had wanted her to start the conversation, for her to lead the way, but now when it was happening, Tim moved from nervous to frightened.

“What do you mean?”

The look Steph gave Tim from the corner of her eye was indescribable, but the closest Tim got to giving it a name was pity.

“Do you want to be with me?”

“Do you?”

Deflecting like a wimp. Avoiding conflict. Tim tried to convince himself it was because Stephanie had to be the one to tell him. The moment she was decisive, so would he.

Instead she sighed like she didn’t know what to say. They were still holding hands. Tim began to breathe shallowly.

“Please, Steph. It’s fine if you don’t.”

There was his admission. She knew, she’d always known. But somehow, she had found the talent of laying her cards close to her chest, and he hated it.

“It’s not that.”

Not a denial. Not really an admission either.

“What is it?”

“It’s everyone else. Like, I’ve been getting all these messages all the time from people I haven’t spoken to in ages but then Kara keeps messaging me asking what’s going on. Why I didn’t tell her? Why are her and Conner not invited? But I can’t… I can’t lie to our loved ones about you.”

“Because you…don’t love me. And you don’t want to lie to the people we love that you do.”

He felt hollowed out. He felt like he was hurting her. But she had agreed to this. She didn’t have to. He had given her a way out. So what? She was being a martyr?

“No…No Tim.”

And suddenly Tim could breathe again.

“But don’t you get it? Even if I wanted… we are lying to everyone. How can anything good come from a lie? Especially for us. Where has us lying with each other ever done us any good?”

Oh. She thought they were repeating old bad patterns.                                

“I’m not lying to you.” He said, trying to reassure her. Not once since this whole thing had begun.

“And that’s all that matters?”

“It should. We’re the ones in this…relationship…so that’s all that counts.”

She sighed patiently, like she was explaining something to a child. “Tim, we don’t live in a bubble.”

Tim ignored it, and shamelessly began to beg. His patience had run out. It felt like he was pulling wisdom teeth, that’s how closed off she was being.

“Stephanie. Steph, please. You can’t say it’s a lie when I’ve done nothing but be honest with you. You have to tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“You said you loved me at dinner.”

“I did.”

“Do you?”

“Of course, I do.”

Tim did not feel any lighter with the admission, nor did Steph look happy to say it.

“When this is over, do you want to be with me? For real? Like I do for you?”

Finally, finally, they looked each other in the eye.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was wet, quiet, and strained, like she was on the urge of crying. She didn’t even sound sure of her uncertainty. Maybe Tim was completely delusional, but he sensed that for all her talks of wanting the truth, she didn’t know what to do with it when it was staring her right in the face.

She was still frightened, and Tim knew it was from every piece of negative and positive attention being flung there way. Like Tim, Stephanie just wanted to be left alone. Unlike Tim, she couldn’t cope with the attention. And he didn’t know how to help her.

She then got up from the table, picking up their bowls to do the washing up. She had gotten what she wanted from the conversation. Tim was being earnest, like he always was. Tim still loved her, like he always had. Tim wanted a real relationship with her, like he had always wanted.

And she had only given him mixed signals in return. Self-loathing bubbled in her gut, which only served to fuel her seemingly growing self-esteem issues. Her anger spiked.

And she’d tried so hard to get over her adolescent insecurities too…

Patrol was waiting, after which Stephanie would spend the night with Cass at the manor, and Tim would return to his apartment, staring at the empty space in his large bed.

Neither slept that night.

[regrettablewritings]

How differently do they think of each other now compared to when they first met?: You thought of Clark as anyone who’d ever met him before did: He was timid, and something about his demeanor seemed poorly suited for the frame that actually portrayed it. However, he seemed harmless enough; nothing worth digging into. That was what you had made sure to take note of during your period as a mole for one “Mr. Knight.” (You really wished Mr. Wayne would’ve thought up a less laughable alias, but he wasn’t paying you to criticize. Only to keep your finger on the pulse of Metropolis by infiltrating the ranks of the Daily Planet). However, as time went on, that initial response seemed to shift somewhat.

It didn’t take long for you to notice his frequent disappearances during the work day. When you inquired about it, an apparent friend of his, Lois, explained that it had something to do with some “health concerns” or whatever story he was supposedly working on that week. You raised a brow at the matter but took note for future reference. Part of you wanted to believe that your job (your real one as a mole) had been made a lot easier by potentially having a link to finding out who the caped Kryptonian was. But another part of you was suspicious of the possibility; after all, that would be far too good of luck for that to be the case, right? Probably.

You would’ve been happy to have left it like that, had it not been for the brief but relatively multiple occurrences where you’d witnessed Clark be able to perform acts that would have required excessive strength such as moving a full file cabinet with ease, or gripping the edge of his desk enough to snap the pulpy wood it was made out of. It was perhaps in your need to justify everything that wound up being your downfall. You were on a mission – a very important one at that – and it wouldn’t do to constantly pester your boss about every strange thing that occurred in the area. (If that were the case, you would’ve had the Bruce Wayne lurking around the nightclub scene, intimidating every other person who could do a vape trick through a gaged hole in their mouth.)

In this case, you looked to the small file of Daily Planet workers that Mr. Wayne had provided you with, pleased to use Clark’s farm boy heritage as an excuse for his freakish strength (never mind that he supposedly had health issues that may or may not have a supposed effect on it). But perhaps also you just needed a reason to not have to be suspicious of him: He was, from what few interactions the two of you had had, a very nice guy. Not a Nice Guy™, but a man who appeared to be nice by nature. You sure as heck never met one back in Gotham!

Clark admittedly didn’t have much of an opinion on you for the first chunk of your time undercover. It wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t appear in his awareness enough for him to form an idea of you, it was just that with his self-appointed position as a sort of guardian of the Earth (or at least Metropolis), learning about new coworkers wasn’t really on the top of his list. Especially with this Batman nonsense beginning to spill over from across the bay. But from what he did manage to take note of, however, you were polite and dedicated, always seeing your assigned tasks to the end – which was undeniably something that Clark couldn’t always say for himself.

He didn’t expect the latter to come back to bite him in his nigh-on invincible ass, though.

It didn’t matter to you that he’d insisted that all was forgiven: The amount of guilt you’d accumulated after being tied up into his near-defeat just wouldn’t quit.

“Please,” you said, almost seriously, “punch my body backwards. Fling me into the sun… Lois mentioned you got a place in the Arctic, right? Drop me off there and leave me to fend for myself.”

Once again, Clark found himself laughing (albeit in an attempt to alleviate the tension).

“It’s okay,” he swore. A beat before shrugging. “Well, not okay … But it’s all said and done. You didn’t mean any harm –”

“This entire UC mission was to figure out who Superman was so my boss could kick the shit out of him.”

“… Well, you didn’t mean the extent of the harm, anyway.”

Even after you placed your two-weeks notice at the Daily Planet, thus ending your time in Metropolis, the apologies wouldn’t quit. Nor did your efforts to attempt proportionate compensation via expensive fruit baskets.

(“Wow,” Lois breathed, observing the intricate designs carved into a large watermelon. The great fruit itself had been converted into a basket that now held grapes and honeydew and all sorts of other natural goodies. “Somebody must really like you, Clark.” She smirked as Clark’s ears burned red. He cast his eyes downward, but he knew she knew.)

But eventually he must have gotten sick of fruit or acquired a compost pile too large for the likes of the city, because eventually he contacted you and suggested the two of you settle this in a more agreeable way: Having a nice dinner and chatting. Even though Clark insisted it was something he’d managed to pull together, the fact that the restaurant was practically bare save for the staff gave you the creeping suspicion that he had called in a favor with Mr. Wayne. You intended on asking Clark if this had been the case (aside from his alter ego, the man was pretty honest about everything else), but first: You had to talk about the fight that happened so long ago.

It was by no intention (at least, not of your own) that the discussion would diverge into other topics, which then turned into conversations all a world of their own. Things like how different Metropolis was from Gotham. Or your respective personal lives when not saving the world or writing for a flimsy paper or being a billionaire’s second righthand. Or favorite dishes to cook. Or favorite past times. By the time the night was over, you’d forgotten what the two of you had come together for in the first place.

Fast forward to now, when the two of you are a couple. You still think he’s a dorkish sweetheart, but really only when he’s in civilian mode. This is because you’ve since come to know Clark as being far more multidimensional than the stereotypical, sheepish lad he sells himself as. You respect his sacrificing attitude, nerve-wrecking as it can often be. It’s interesting how a man can seem so ideal yet struggle so much with the weight of what his abilities carry, and he lets you know about that weight often enough. He wants to be the best hero he can, but that’s just plain impossible. Nevertheless, he tries and sometimes he pushes himself too far in the attempts. He needs a lot more comfort and validation than he lets in on, of which you are glad to provide.

Clark is quite glad to learn that being ambitious wasn’t just a trait you wore for your time undercover – it was something that you had arrived in Metropolis with, and one that you carried out in everything you did no matter how big or small. Let’s be real, Clark’s always admired a go-getter, so it’s no surprise that that is perhaps the trait he’s most excited about seeing in you. He admires your openness to carrying out tasks, something of which he can’t quite do as often as he’d like due to who and what he is. However, he’s more than happy to support you because you’re his biggest cheerleader and have faith in him. Going off of this, he also appreciates your loyalty. It’s an impassioned sort, assisted by the aforementioned sense of dedication you display. Once your mind is made up, it would take either a lot or your own self to actually sway you off the course you’d set. No wonder he was able to buy you as a genuine journalist for so long!

What do their friends/family think of their relationship?: Given that he’s far less hostile towards Clark post-fight, Bruce doesn’t feel nearly as threatened about the relationship as he probably could’ve been. Of course, he’s still put off by it: He hadn’t expected his spy to come back dating the very man he’d been afraid of all these years. However, given that he’s grown to trust Clark as a person, all Bruce can do is sigh heavily and just let things happen. The both of you are grown-ups, he trusts nothing weird is going to happen.

“Besides,” he resigns, “at least the guy can protect you if need be.” Damn right he could.

Neither of you get the chance to even tell Lois before she figures it out (the woman isn’t an award-winning investigative journalist for nothing). Honestly, she thought the two of you had been dating long before you actually began (“I thought that the fruit baskets were little tokens of affection after the fifth week of it happening,” she said). However, she is quick to regard the relationship as something straight out of a cheesy romance novel and she’s absolutely living for it.

“Enemies-turned-lovers – god, can Clark ever be a part of something not cliché?” she giggles into her morning coffee the day she figures out the situation. Suffice to say she’s at least glad that the man is actually interacting with more people on a regular basis than just her. On that note, the League also soon finds out (because let’s be real, Diana could either see it in Clark’s features, or Bruce blabbed about it). With the exception of Bruce (who is exasperated about it), the League is predominately neutral regarding the relationship. Actually, scratch that: Barry bluntly comments about how strange the union is because “didn’t [Clark] almost die because of the information [you] got on [him]?” He doesn’t mean to come off in any negative kind of way, it just perplexes him at first. However, given that he and Clark are “speed buddies” and therefore share kindred, sprinted spirits, he trusts Clark’s decision and is happy for him.

When you finally videochat your family so they can finally lay their eyes on your boyfriend, you have to pray to whatever god is out there that the camera feed is too grainy for them to make out Clark’s features too well. When your sibling commented on how Clark looks vaguely familiar, your stomach took a plunge into your bowls. Thankfully, Clark was able to play it off as a joke about how he just has “basic white guy face.” It manages to get a chuckle out of your family. All in all, they think you’ve found yourself a “fine young man.” It’s your friends, however, you struggle the most with. It’s not that they disapprove of the relationship – far from it, in fact – it’s just that with them being physically present and far more social media savvy, it’s harder to keep them from recognizing Clark as the controversial Kryptonian. As a result, Clark kept his almost sheepish workplace demeanor, adding fuel to the image by always opting to wear clothes that are just unflattering to his figure. Nothing godawful, but definitely nothing to indicate at the 6’1” mass of pure muscle that he really was.

No neither side’s surprise, they bought it. Mainly because Clark was naturally very likable. Your friends boldly praise Clark for being “a rare breed of man”, and you for managing to snag him. It’s when they ask you guys how you met, however, that things had to be fudged a bit. As far as they know, you two met while he was interviewing you for a piece that wound up getting cancelled. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to handle learning you’re involved with espionage, much less that it was the reason you are now dating Superman.

How do their personalities/skills complement or contrast with each other?: While both you and Clark are go-getters, it’s really only in your own respective rights. For example, it’s in his nature to present it as tamer. He works in ways that, at their core, are meant to minimize damages to the best of his ability. (Whether or not this actually plays out, of course, depends on the circumstances.) This isn’t to say that you’re necessarily rambunctious but being that you were trained under and employed by a man with an “any means necessary” point of view, it’s easy to sometimes let your ambitions get the better of you. You both are also skilled in the ways of being elusive, with it being in your job description by the nature of the job, and with it being a necessity for him to be able to be Superman and Clark separately.

What is their favorite aspect of each other?: Even from day one, with what little you knew or cared about Clark, you had to admit: You admired his kindly nature. Depressing as it was to say, it just wasn’t a common thing to find in people, much less the men hardened by urban living. And your job and all its accompaniments hadn’t necessarily convinced you otherwise – you were just so used to seeing and reporting horrible, dark things about seemingly nice people that you had lost quite a bit of hope by the time Clark had rolled around. In fact, you honestly didn’t really by his willingness to help or his politeness – at first. But once he proved that everything about his efforts was genuine, you couldn’t help but admire those traits. A little too much so, in your initial opinion.

Part of you even questioned your own reliability, that maybe you took small, normal instances of him being a decent human and exaggerated them to godlike status to make your eventual romantic relationship with him more justifiable. But ultimately you clung to it: The universe was offering you a walking piece of Heaven, who were you to truly deny yourself that? Of course, it sometimes exhausted you to see him try to fulfill expectations that weren’t even necessarily there (especially with his Clark Kent alias), but more on that later. In healthy doses, his unselfishness was his strongest point.

Having been raised in a farming community, Clark grew up appreciating the value of working hard to get results. This has since bled into the real world where go-getters tend to gain some bit of admiration within him, especially those who use their determination to see a job through to a greater good. Granted, the situations wherein you tended to use this trait of yours are a bit controversial: Espionage, for all intents and purposes, was a shady business to get into, especially since his first awareness of your involvement in it required you to be a mole and feed your employer information, of which subsequently got Clark’s ass kicked. But you win some brownie points when he gets to observe that same diligence in you outside of work. If you set your sights on a project or something you wish to acquire, you’re going to see it through, from getting a recipe for a stay-in date night down, to attempting to fix the dryer despite knowing very little about handyman-ship.

Suffice to say, godly being loves a trier.

Do either of them have pet peeves about each other?: It may seem cold, but you hate that Clark blames himself for not being able to stop anything and everything. It’s ridiculous. He may be “godlike” to the eyes of many, but that doesn’t make him God, much less suggest that even God helps everybody. He just needs to accept to the vest of is ability that there are some (and by some, you mean plenty) of things he can’t do. That’s what makes him human. He doesn’t … take this bluntness too well. Yes, he knows you’re right, but the delivery of this type of sensitive subject doesn’t always flow sweetly through your lips. And that’s what he doesn’t like.

Your concern for his self-validation doesn’t always translate as being from a place of good intentions, unfortunately. Sometimes you just come off as cold and cruel. And that is probably when he dislikes from you: That despite being a very caring person, you seem to be a little more detached compared to him. You’re more so about people rather than for people, whereas he has built himself up as a figure for people and about people. As a result, he sometimes feels beside himself, thinking that your aloof nature shouldn’t be excused by what you’ve experienced and that it only contributes to a bigger problem as a whole.

The truth of the matter is that while both sides have valid arguments, the delivery of such concerns – especially when in the heat of an argument – can result in ill delivery of either impression.

The words “martyr syndrome”, “ridiculous”, “cold”, and “selfish” are likely to be thrown about until you either storm off or he practically blasts out of the apartment before he accidentally lasers the kitchen counter out of rage.

How would each reconcile with each other after a fight?: Cool down time is especially important in a situation wherein one member of the couple is capable of accidentally setting off a very dangerous super power when enraged. Clark would never hurt you, mind you; even when frustrated with you, he would never wish you ill in spite of what he may imply when blinded by anger. However, you make him pretty vulnerable, mind you. And sometimes, that vulnerability may mess with his ability to focus on trying not to smash a balled fist against the coffee table and turning it into toothpicks upon impact. And while you may not be anywhere near that strong or gifted with abilities that would allow you to destroy things with the same capacity, you still have plenty of anger to simmer down from.

Screaming into a pillow usually only does so much (mostly just making your throat and head hurt), so more often than not you’ll try to nap away the pain. If you manage to wake up before Clark comes back, there’s a slight chance you’ll be in a better mood. Maybe not a perfect one, but you’ve at the very least calmed down a bit. Depending on the situation, you may have even accepted that you can’t stay mad forever, let alone with him, and you want to just end this silly dispute and make peace. You wait up for him to return which, in itself, is a feat considering that his abilities allow him to literally travel all over the world in record time – which he has done in some cases under the duress of an argument. If you stay up for hours, even into the blooming light of the rising sun, he won’t even try to talk with you when he returns – he’ll just usher you back to bed and quietly say you’ll talk when you’re both well-rested.

When that time eventually comes, the keyword here is “softer.” Speak what you mean in softer language. Don’t sugarcoat it, but there’s definitely a better way to state your claim than, “Shit happens everywhere in the world, it’s not your job or even your ability to clean it all up, nor should you kick your own ass about it.” Clark will be patient and let you tell your side, nodding or furrowing his brows at certain comments, before telling his own side of the situation regarding himself. Then, when you’re ready, he’ll confide in you (in softer terms) his worry that you’re being too indifferent about the current state of the world and his place in them. He understands you don’t mean to come off in such a way, but it just concerns him that you’ve really given up on everything.

Of course, you haven’t. You just felt it was easier to cope with everything this way. He understands. Just like deep down, you understand that your beloved boyfriend just wants to bring to the world more peace than there was before he came. Neither part may necessarily agree with the others’ methods or how it may impact them (making you cold, making him filled with anxiety), but the most that you can do is be there for one another. Offer each other support and love and keep as much of a balance as possible. Because in the end, you keep him grounded and Clark lifts you up.

What would be their ideal vacation getaway together?: It’s hard to place where or even what vacationing with Clark would look like to be honest. Given who Clark is, he can’t always just up and decide to take a break. At least, that’s what he convinces himself. And it drives you absolutely nuts! Once Lois and Diana catch wind of this, they’re on Clark’s back like college students on free food, scolding him for “neglecting his boyfriend duties.” He only really gives in after Diana’s fifty-fifth insistence that the League can handle things in his absence. However, it then becomes a matter of where to go.

Given his abilities, he can and has easily traveled to other countries in very little time with few to no difficulties. But since he more often than not is not there to take in the scenery or culture, this makes it only a bit easier. However, you insist that on vacation he ought to act a little more normal so that he can get the full experience. This means you have to choose a vacation destination wisely, otherwise y’all have wasted money. Generally speaking, Clark’s nervousness about being too far from Metropolis is likely going to affect how far the two of you go at first, never mind how easy it would be for him to just fly back if the League truly did need him. However, enough nudging can result in a trip a little further from Metropolis than Clark would have expected to be besides Smallville.

He finds that he likes Yosemite Park. Not so much the crowds it tends to draw, but definitely the hiking trails and the potential picnics that could be had further away from the screeches of children and bellowing of their frustrated parents. Plus, his abilities make going further inward and elsewhere all the more easy, with getting lost or having to escape potentially dangerous animals being a thing of the past when Clark can easily fly above the treetops and back toward civilization if need be. Of course, he still tries to avoid being cocky and to keep his wits about him, but for the most part, Clark finds himself enjoying the vacation. Once he’s gotten through his hesitancies and potential guilt about relaxing, he practically collapses into a puddle of released stresses, his head warming your lap as the two of you enjoy the gentle breeze of the little patch of forest you decided to spend your little picnic for two in.

He dreadfully misses it when it comes time for him to resume his jobs as both a reporter and as guardian of Metropolis (and, furthermore, the world).

Think of a new way (AU, different situation, etc.) they could have met for the first time

The world was strange, and Clark wasn’t sure how much right he had to conclude that for himself. Because, on one hand, he was a flying, laser-shooting alien with unparalleled strength. But on the other, he was involved with a team composed of two technical demigods (both whose people were thought to be myths), a cyborg revived from the brink of death by a box, and a man fast enough to phase through solid material with just the proper amount of focus. This went without mentioning the fact that his enemy-turned friend was a billionaire who’d been dressing like a bat for the last three decades but, all things considered, that was arguably normal by comparison.

But, with the exception of Victor, you never would’ve assumed such oddities about any of them. Not at first glance at least. But that was the point: The world could only handle so much strangeness before people became too opposed to it for it to carry on. Which was why it made Clark a little more than on edge when things around Metropolis started to seem a little … odd.

It started off with little things: Black marks appearing in alleyways, cracking and booming noises often occurring before or after. “Not unlike thunderclaps,” witnesses would later say. TVs and other electrical devices going wonky or even outright snapping out of life. Fuse boxes would be blackened, the areas around them sometimes scorched. But the electric companies couldn’t find anything about the equipment that would suggest sabotage; and inspectors on the case found little to nothing that could suffice as evidence that there was purposeful vandalism. And with all the more obvious surveillance cameras damaged before any footage could be captured, there was only so much to go on. There was little rhyme or reason indicating a pattern to which areas got struck besides the fact that they tended to be in wealthier areas, but considering much of Metropolis was inhabited by the upper-class, it was nearly a moot note so the likelihood of a successful stakeout was remarkably slim – if performed by the average cop.

Bruce wasn’t a cop. But he also wasn’t the average detective. It had taken some time and a lot of surveillance, coupled with Lois’ own findings done on her own time, but by the end of a month and a half, they were pretty certain they had found their culprit. All that was left was to have Clark find them and bring them in, hopefully to join the League.

Why Clark?

“Pretty sure that if you get electrocuted, you’ll just register it as a tickle,” Bruce admitted. Blunt, but fair.

Still, Clark couldn’t help but think as he scouted the skies one night, maybe the rich guy who has plenty of time the next day to rest might want to go searching in the middle of the night?

But there was no use in arguing, much less at this point. Though some small part of him wish he’d put up a bit more of a fight beforehand. Normally, Clark was glad to have found the city experiencing little to no issues, especially at night. However, considering the added weight of expectations placed on this particular outing, there he couldn’t help but hold a little bit of anticipation in him –

VwwmmmmmpapapapKRACK.

It was faint, being in the distance, but it was nothing his hearing couldn’t register: The sound of fuse tampering and popping out of life. There, some odd three miles away: There was a glow swelling and slightly throbbing with diminishing power, crawling out of an alleyway into the night air.

Well, Clark thought somewhat optimistically. At least I won’t have to track them down based on looks alone …

+++++++++

Moving to Metropolis was supposed to be the start of something new. Something good and new, specifically. Not getting into a freak accident involving a weird, unnatural-looking cloud appearing just as you were checking out your apartment’s fuse box and waking up months later from a comatose state. That alone should have been enough of a cue that things weren’t going to go your way.

But, oh, it didn’t stop there. It would’ve been fine to have stopped when a majority of your clothes would stick to you regardless of the fashion; that was bearable. But it went on: From your phone exploding in your touch to your electronics following suit. It didn’t stop when the electricity in your building flickered with your rage; nor did it stop when, on a fearful whim, you attempted to summon as much voltage from as many transformers in a three-block radius as possible – and succeeded. Well, that is, before your attempts to return the acquired energy resulted in their sources exploding. You weren’t trying that again.

Not until you had a better grasp of it all… . But god, why was it all so dam hard to grasp?

You’d though it be best to practice in the richer parts of town – the electric company would be in a far bigger hurry to bring them their power back, the absolute bastards. But with how many generators and the like you were destroying, you were running out of practice space.

You groaned as you watched the circuit box before you begin to putter out of use.

“Greeeeat, (Y/N),” you told yourself. “You finally begin to get the hang of putting shit back where it came, you get a little too excited, and blam-o.” The all too familiar feeling of disappointment developed a sigh in you; you had long since passed feeling anxious about the destruction of property, and you knew you could do no good by trying to fix it. All you could do now was leave the scene, pretend to sleep peacefully, and try to figure out where to go next.

It had been nearly two months since you started your high-voltage, highly dangerous practicing; surely by now the cops were on to you, what with most of your “victims” being people of note. Logic said to shake them off your trail by moving to a type of location they wouldn’t have seen comic. But … that meant going to lower-income neighborhoods. And as much as you wanted to figure out how to stop blowing up electronics by touch, you really weren’t comfortable with doing it at the expense of those who needed the help more.

“Good evening,” came a voice, yanking you out of your nervous thoughts. It had taken your brain a moment to register it, but you could’ve sworn it came come from the sky: A type of voice dashing heroes in old movies would use; heroes with big, strong chins.

Superman did, of course, have such a feature on him, you came to find. But as he descending from the sky, into the alley (thus blocking your way out), you were forced to consider that every feature he had appeared to be big and strong: His towering height, his bulging muscles that the suit made no effort to hide, his … hands that would most definitely kill you if he so much as poked you with one finger.

That last thought alone, even in a hypothetical sense, was all it took for your fight or flight senses to kick in, your hands suddenly flying up in defense with fizzles of what electricity you’d collected springing in your palms.

Superman, however, did not flinch. He barely even regarded your sparkling, trembling hands (which did nothing for your confidence, both in your abilities and in your chances of getting out of this unmaimed).

“You don’t want to do that,” Superman stated. Simple as that. And he was right: You really didn’t want to have to “fight” him. But what else could you do?

On Clark’s own end, he could just feel the anxiety radiating off of you. He didn’t even have to listen for your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Honestly, though he hated to admit it, looking at you reminded him of seeing small, scared animals back in Smallville. Rabbits and mice found scittering about on the farm to be more specific.

On one hand, he was just glad you weren’t some hyper-powered hooligan willing to throw a punch in a fight they weren’t ready for. But on the other, he felt a little bad scaring you like this. It was probably best if he didn’t near you. For now.

“It’s okay,” he offered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You sighed and lowered your hands, your pitiful static fizzling to a halt. “Look,” you said quietly, “I promise I’ll go away. I’ll switch towns! I swear!”

At this, the man furrowed his brows. “I’m afraid that can’t happen …” Your heart plummeted before being slingshotted back into a revived desire to plea and flee.

“I swear, okay! Nobody was supposed to get hurt!” you insisted. “I don’t think anybody even really got hurt, per se … Just inconvenienced. But I promise, it won’t happen again – ” In the midst of your rambling, Superman took a step towards you. It was a simple movement, all things considered, but for you, in this moment of high stress, it might as well have been an outright threat. You couldn’t stop yourself from releasing a pathetic yelp, nearly stepping all over your own feet to take a few steps back.

Crap, Clark cursed. Okay, clearly acting serious and stern was helping nobody. At this point, you were probably going to run in the opposite direction and smack your skull against the dead end of the alleyway. To hell with this.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he suddenly said. He raised his hands in a weak attempt to show his change of demeanor. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” You had to admit, even in your moment of fear, the sudden shift in tone was not lost on you.

He still had hints of old school hero in his voice, but now there was something … more? It was hard to place (especially in your current jumpy state), but you were just able enough to pick out nodes of what his voice now held: Sunshine; apples; the type of voice a sweet man running a humble little bookstore or fruit stand might have.

It had to have been a trap. You weren’t one to disapprove of Superman, given all that he’s done, but being on the other side of him just wasn’t doing much for your ability to think straight. And Clark could sense it.

“Hey,” he tried again. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” You blinked, a brow slowly beginning to raise. “We – I’ve been looking for you, per a friend’s request, and – ” No sooner had he said it, Clark regretted it. The look of resumed discomfort of your face made him really acknowledge that.

“ ‘Friend’?” you demanded. “Who the hell is your friend? What do you want?!”

Oh, geez.  

“Listen, please, remain calm!” Clark pleaded. To him, in that moment, he’d thought he’d been sounding gentle enough. But as the nearby streetlights began to flicker, he knew better.

Once again, regret: If there was anything he’d learned working with Lois and Bruce, it was that telling someone on the verge of panic or in the midst of complete frustration to “calm down” in any sense was a bad, bad, bad idea. Saying so to a person who had powers, controlled or not, however? Absolutely terrible idea.

While your previous attempt at intimidation by way of summoning electricity had done little to impress Clark, he had to admit: You were a bit better at it now. The more the streetlights blinked, the more streams of electronic light appeared to gather towards you, specifically in your palms and feet.

“Look, buddy,” you hissed. “I’ve been dealing with a lot of crap leading up to this. I moved to a new city. I got goddamn electrocuted into a coma – ” At this point, Clark couldn’t help but notice thin streaks of static begin to make a beeline towards your eyes. Not promising, if his experience had told him so.

You gritted your teeth, increasingly glowing eyes narrowing. “Then! I wake up to these – these stupid, stupid powers! Powers I don’t have the first fucking clue of how to control. But do you see me running around, actively trying to kill people like every other goddamn psycho in this ‘city of tomorrow’? No! I’ve had to figure all this crap out on. My. Own.” The brights of your eyes increased, simultaneously illuminating the growing rage of your expression while also blinding Clark to being able to make it out in the first place.

At your feet, small currents began to sizzle against the crackling pavement. You were no longer trying to back away: You took a step forward, and it definitely made Clark feel worry.

“Could I have done it differently? Sure. Maybe. But don’t forget, Flyboy: I could’ve been so. Much. Worse!” Clark could hear the tingling rattle of lightbulbs struggling within the streetlights, trying to retain whatever power they could.

“I – ” But Clark was cut off.

“And you,” you growled, “have the audacity … To tell me to calm DOWN?!” In that moment, three things happened in the following order:

The first had been that your eyes, filled with so much fury, could no longer remain squinted; they widened, revealing themselves to be entirely white with pure energy at this point. The second thing appeared to be connected with the sudden snapping, due to it being how any lightbulb in a streetlight or artsy lamp within a three-block radius became overwhelmed – too overwhelmed to maintain proper form, in fact. They popped and shattered, leaving bits of glass to tumble to the streets below.

The third instance, however, had nothing to do with your powers: It was just Clark, getting a word in.

“I get it,” he said. Had there been any lightbulbs left, they might have shattered as well in sync with the snarl you gave the man.

“Quit lying!” you demanded. The wave of volts began to ripple all the more erratically. But Clark held his ground.

“I’m not lying,” he swore. He even placed one hand to his heart, the other upright. “Scout’s honor.” Unfortunately for him, the sincerity of a Boy Scout appeared to mean little to you. He went on, “I didn’t always have control of my powers. I didn’t have anyone to help me figure them out; I had to wing it!” You raised a bemused brow in reaction.

Okay … Clark thought. It’s … better than the glare, I guess? He swallowed. Dare to try one last time before things potentially get yucky?

“That’s, uh, actually why I’ve … come to find you,” he stated. “The friend? I swear he’s a good man. A little rough around the edges, but – ”

“You’re not helping your case,” you snapped.

“I’m a part of a sort of group, there’s people like you and me, and we think it’d be best if you joined – er, if you wanted to.”

“Ah. So, you want to basically make me into a weapon?”

“Nonononono, not that at all. I swear. It’s just – Look, even if you don’t want to join,” Clark bit his lip, “we could at least potentially find a way to help you get those powers under control so that you won’t keep breaking stuff.” A beat passed. “Well,” he shrugged, “it’s more like my friend will. He’s good with science and can definitely provide the right materials.”

To his credit, Clark did begin to notice an apparent lapse in the energy you were emitting. It was hard for the average eye to properly compute it but for him, the change was definitely there.

On your own end, you had to admit: The temptation was definitely lingering through his words. But then, perhaps you were just desperate and overwhelmed and looking for an out in this entire situation. But something still very much bothered you.

“How can I know I can trust you?” you asked, brow completely scrunched with uncertainty. The entire situation considered, it was still a bit of a shocker for one to not entirely trust the great and beloved Superman’s words. And, judging by his stumbling, it wasn’t a scenario he had been prepared to answer right on the spot.

“Uh – Becaaauussseee …” Another thing Clark had learned working with Lois and Perry Mason: The longer you stammer and search for answers, the less legit your word comes cross. His mind scrambled for something, anything that would win your favor over. But, in the end, there was only one thing that stood out. And, for the first time completely since landing in that alley, Clark felt just as nervous as you had.

“My … name …” He inhaled deeply, trying his best not to exhale chill winds. “My name … is Clark Kent. I work with The Daily Planet.”

You blinked. “… Pardon?” The voltage at your feet dampened.

Clark continued, “I’m a Kryptonian refugee, but I was raised here on Earth. The friend who sent me here is – ” He stopped himself short before deciding that Bruce could kick his ass about this later. “It’s Bruce Wayne.”

“Bruce Wayne?!” you interjected. Part of you wanted to call crap but the other part of you had to remember that the man in front of you was claiming to be a humanoid alien who worked at the local newspaper; who’s to say he really wasn’t acquainted with the rich guy across the bay? Judging by the hint of smile this Clark Kent guy let slip, you … honestly couldn’t bring yourself to really disbelieve him. The static at your fingertips dribbled into your palms before shrinking away.

“Yeah, uh … It’s a bit of a story,” Clark claimed, a bit of sheepishness in his voice.

The shift from mostly illuminated to just barely lit by the light of the moon was sudden and startling. But for Clark, it was a good thing. The ground immediately beneath you had been blackened by your doing, but you otherwise appeared perfectly fine, if a bit curious.

“Got proof?” you asked.

“I mean, I gave you my secret identity – that’s pretty trusting if I do say so myself,” Clark pointed out. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. And you were getting awfully tired. In fact …

In that moment, you had realized something: That was about the most power and damage you’d caused ever since getting these powers in one fell swoop. You were a little impressed. But you were also plenty concerned. Sure, you’d meant to be threatening in the moment, but the fact still remained: If the only other person around hadn’t been Superman, how easily could you have actually harmed another person in your moment of anger? The second you attempted to truly ponder it, a shudder threatened to ripple through your body; you did not enjoy considering those odds.

But how long until you got so pissed off that you pulled another one of those? How long until you actually did cause harm? That thought was even worse …

“Are you positive?” you mumbled, causing Clark to cock his head by an inch.

“I’m sorry?” he questioned.

You looked him dead in the eye and dared him to lie: “Are you positive you guys can, like, help me control my powers?” The smile he gave you alone would have been enough to convince you.

“We’ve trained with literal scientific anomalies and legends, Miss. I can assure you: You’re in good company with us.” The sweet, honey warmness of his voice did everything to calm the well of fear and guilt within you. It was more than enough.

“Okay,” you said with finality.

“Okay?”

“Mhm. Let’s do this.” Almost instantly, however, you raised your fingers to draw a point. “But I’m not fighting or anything. Just so we’re clear. I’m just coming along to get my groove in order, so tell your ‘friend’, Bruce Wayne, alright?”

The man didn’t even try to hide a chuckle at your stance. You were going to be just fine, he’d decided. And you? Well … the jury was still out on whether or not this was where your move to Metropolis would finally turn into a good, new thing.

[osmw1]

Crowbar Nurse  Chapter 12 — The Lamer the Technique, The Stronger the Kiryū

My consciousness resurfaced from the depths of a deep dreamless slumber, similar to the feeling of waking from anesthesia… or so I’ve been told by my patients.

My tongue squirmed, trying to rehydrate the dryness in my mouth. I surveyed my surroundings while still lying down… I knew where I was.

Uptown — the second stage of the Emergency Partition Plan and lovingly nicknamed Safehouse by fans of the game.

We managed to make our way here at last…

A sigh of relief trickled from my lips was followed by another deep lungful in, but the dry air cut my trachea as if I were breathing in razor blades.

Glimpses of the bare, windowless room peeked through the impenetrable red iron door. Where I had lain wasn’t a bed, but something closer to a bench you’d find in the waiting area of a hospital. The air in here was musty, evident that this room has long since seen visitors. And it was also dry because the air conditioning units lack a humidification feature?

Though glad as I was to make it here safe and sound, equal amounts of bitterness welled up in me, cursing the reality of the situation: This was no dream.

I’m not sure how we got in. Normally, you’d need to find a hidden NPC or the key in a secret room… well, I suppose I should count my blessings.

Lying here all day wouldn’t do us any favors. I sat up while taking another large breath.

“Finally awake, I see. It’s a shame that you are not dead.” “… Oh, it’s you, Elizabeth.”

Some distance away, the voice emanated from an office chair that looked to be built by the lowest bidder. The sour look on her face indicated the fruit she was munching on might have been as well.

“You fainted as soon as things had settled down. Kiryū turned pale as a ghost, fearing that he had pushed you too hard.” “Oh, jeez… Sorry about that. That was poor timing though, seeing things haven’t settled down. Not until we reach the safehouse, at least.” “We were fine. Sure, we might have taken a few wrong turns, but we managed to stumble our way here alright. It was nothing we couldn’t handle on our own… so he said. You have been running on fumes and working long hours, haven’t you? Adrenaline only gets you so far before your body clocks out.”

With her hand clutching her temple, Elizabeth looked just as poorly. More jarring was how tied around her ankles was a makeshift rope fashioned from bedsheets.

“Speaking of which, where is Kiryū anyway?” “Him? He took two NPC’s with him to the supermarket in search for more food. … look at this. All this just to make sure I wouldn’t kill you.” “Hmm? What about it?” “These sheets are all part of Kiryū’s contraption. He tied my ankles to the lever that opens the door so that if I were to force my way towards you, the zombies would all rush in.” “Wow.” “He even went around confiscating any objects large enough to be a weapon and tucked it underneath the bed you’re sleeping on.

She looked helpless all tied up like that. … Kiryū sure is cautious. But that makes it even weirder for someone so cautious to run out on his own, leaving behind me and Elizabeth, a potential threat. I guess I should first check the place where a rifle should be… Wait, what?! There’s only a pistol and a shotgun here!

“… I wonder if he’d be alright with just two NPC’s…”

I mumbled as I sat up from the leather bench. Why did he go and do that? I mean, you can have up to five soldiers in your—err, survivors following you at the same time.

“He said he was going to recruit the NPC’s that he left behind at the start of the game. I suppose he is also going to take the chance to level up as well.” “Why is he in such a… Oh, maybe he’s worried about the seven-day limit.” “What limit?” “So, after seven days pass in this game, an endless amount of zombies will come and overrun you and that means game over.” “How awful.” “I know, right? Such a shame, especially because it’s such a fun game.”

I awkwardly chuckled before taking a sip of water from a plastic bottle underneath the bench, instantly dissolving the parchedness from before.

“… Sorry that we left you just lying there.”

Her words slowly stumbled out,

“That Kiryū really wanted to help, but besides you, none of us knew how to use syringes. Stuffing your mouth with herbs couldn’t wake you up either.” “Yes, I suppose Medicinal Herbs don’t help with fainting.” “Right…”

Elizabeth’s response marked the end of the topic. I looked towards her to see the remainder of half-eaten fruit resting on her lap and her lips sucked in. She must have been fraught, nervous.

Shoot. How do I break this awkward silence…?

My nursing training can come into play here. Hark, thee! … Umm, I learned this technique called assertive communication in class… What was the trick to it again?

“… The air in here sure is dry.”

Panic beset me and the words that came out were nothing but unengaging small talk.

“Yes… I suppose powering down the air conditioning would help.”

Elizabeth followed up with the pointless topic I offered, perhaps similarly hoping to cast away the awkwardness.

“I already tried doing so with the controls on the wall but to no avail. Perhaps the cooling system is centrally controlled. The air conditioning in the lecture halls at my university were just as annoying too.” “Oh, maybe, yeah… Speaking of which, what did you study in university?” “If we know too much of each other, it would just be awkward if either of us dies. … I mean, if you really want to know, I suppose I do not mind telling you that I am licensed for early childhood education, elementary school education, and childcare—where I currently work.” “Wow! That must’ve been a lot of hard work.” “It certainly was… and I was frequently rewarded with unlawful overtime. Hard work sure pays off.”

She turned her gaze upwards and unto the ceiling; I couldn’t help but to sigh too.

“It’s tough before and after graduating, hey? I guess I’m in the same boat as you. Being thrown into this world sure is scary, but also, being torn away from my super overworked lifestyle isn’t the worst thing either. I mean, it’d be bad if we were trapped here forever though.”

At the very least, I was able to share a laugh in agreement with Elizabeth.

“I wholly understand you. There really isn’t too much you can do with your own powers to escape the confines of a terrible job. Perhaps this world was created as… something like respite care. Less than likely though…” “Hey, Elizabeth?”

Though interrupting the girl deep in thought, I managed to find resolve and approached Elizabeth.

“I’m wondering if you could tell me a little about what you know about this world.” “…” “I don’t see myself surviving if we continue on like this. More importantly, though, someone important to you died so that you could return to the real world, am I right…?” “What makes you think so?”

Her voice strained and wavered.

“Gamer sense,” I said with a shrug and a smile, and continued.

“I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but that’s probably the reason why that a know-it-all like you is hurting. But even then, you’ve experienced something very painful, haven’t you?” “You’re…”

Her voice trailed off and the safehouse sunk back to a silence. Not an awkward like before, but a silence for scrambling thoughts.

“… it isn’t as if I know more than the very basics.”

There was another good length of time before Elizabeth expanded on her thoughts.

“There’s seemingly an administrator in this game.” “An administrator?” “At the very least, that is what they called themselves. Perhaps it would be more prudent label them as the creator of this world. Someone or something with a twisted sense of purpose. We stand no chance of overcoming that being for as long as we share the same world.”

An overpowered being.

She continues,

“I don’t know of what it wants. What I do know is that all the people who get summoned here are always exhausted and one of them are designated as the ‘core’.” “What happens if you get picked to be core?” “Nothing comes from it… No, actually, they get to bring an electronic device, like a phone or a laptop. With it, you can check who is in which game and to travel between game worlds. You know that already though.” “Right, I remember.” “The games available are… Well, last time, they were all games which the core had played lots. It may be the same this time around. We also never have successfully charged the device last time, so use your phone with great caution.” “Argh… I’ll try my best not to check my phone. Let me actually just turn it off…” “A sage idea.”

Elizabeth concurred with a nod.

“Till this day I have no idea what it… the Administrator wants. Maybe it’s some sort of alien with unfathomable technology, or maybe it’s some time traveler hoping to destroy all wage slaves. Or maybe, it’s the vengeful spirit of someone who was worked to death. I don’t know.” “…” “You’re thinking it sounds ridiculous. But honestly, that is all I know. From the two times I have been through this, the bastard is possibly recreating these game worlds with an emulator or something. Our consciousnesses is then pulled over to this side then assigned to the physical bodies of characters from various video games. And then…” “If the core dies, does that mean… everybody else gets liberated?” “… Yes, there is that as well.”

Her assent was marked with discomfort, but I was only looking for the facts. I assured her that was the case and there was no need to feel guilty for it before further probing her.

“Just for reference, when was the first time you were brought to this side?” “The spring of 2014. The second time was… autumn in 2016. I truly have no luck with workplaces.” “Was it the first or the second time that you witnessed the death of the core?” “The second. First time around, I had returned before I knew what was going on. I suppose the core was killed, but I have no idea. For both cases though, I ended up simply losing conscious for about a week in the real world.” “I see. And have you beaten the world, like, as a game before?” “No.” “Okay. Have you ever been chosen as the core?” “No… The core for my second time here was someone who I got to know well. A good friend.” “That… that must’ve been tough.” “Yes, I suppose.”

In a sense, discomfort, but more so a mournful pain marked her confirmation this time. No doubt that it was an excruciating experience.

“She told me she worked at a bank and that she liked games. Perhaps people who like to game are more likely to be chosen to be the core… Or perhaps not. I mean, I game quite a lot too.” “Ya boy’s a hardcore gamer himself too.”

A third voice interjected and joined our conversation. I looked up without thinking; Elizabeth whipped around in a startle. Behind her stood Kiryū and the unstoppable hellish army in tow. He’s… really looking like something else. The buggy was filled to the brim with supplies. Various weapons and ammunition were dangling from each soldier, tied on with the makeshift rope. Among everyone else, though, Kiryū was carrying the heaviest load: Nick. The frozen protagonist was cradled to his back with what seems to be a baby sling made with the same reused bedsheets.

“Sounds like liking video games is the requirement for being transported to this dimension and not for being chosen as the core. There’s probably ‘nother factor we’re missin’.”

How can someone be so cool when he speaks but look so lame cradling an adult baby?

“Since when did you return?!”

Elizabeth couldn’t hide the fact that he took her by surprise. There’s something else though. She looks tenser than she was before. Being threatened to be eaten by zombies and being held prisoner would do that you. Conscious of that, I interrupted the two of them.

“Hey, Kiryū! Hey! We were in the middle of a serious conversation just now. Which part did you start listening in from?” “Pretty much from the beginning.”

He severed the connection between Elizabeth’s ankle and the door lever with a knife. His knot seemed to be too tight to be untied by hand. Kiryū’s really not going easy on her, huh? No, it’s more than that. Look closely—isn’t he gritting his teeth like he’s Harry Callahan?

“It must’ve been really hard for you to hold back from ridiculing her theories, I bet.” “… you don’t know the half of it! How the hell would an emulator be capable of recreating worlds, let alone transferring consciousnesses?! That’s too much fiction to your science. What, do we all have electrodes sticking into our brains or somethin’ right now? No, wait, you’re right. We’re in the middle of an alien abduction because that’s totally what it is.” “Yeesh, okay, I get you. Jeez. We were just chatting, y’know? Just wondering about the what ifs. Smiling and nodding can be the key skill to good communication, Kiryū.” “That’s a skill I couldn’t care less about. Unfortunately, I can’t help but to call you two out on your scientific inaccuracies. I’m in too deep with machines both as work and as a passion to care about interpersonal relationships.” “In too deep with machines? Are you some sort of inventor?” “In a sense… Like, I do a lot of benchmarking. I love running benchmarks on every video card that comes on the market.” “… Where’s the fun in that?”

Fed up with our conversation, Elizabeth heaved a sigh. Kiryū untied his sling and threw Nick off of his back and onto the ground.

“Kiryū! There’s only one Nick in the game, so treat him better!” “As if. More of him popped up at the beginning of the level. I also took the chance to secure a large batch of unlimited ammo rifles too.” “Uh… what?!” “I explored a bit of the map we’re in right now… Just a bit ahead in the game is the Shooting Range, right?” “Um, yes, that’s right.” “I found a really rudimentary bug there.”

He had a smug smile as he looked around at our army.

“So, you know how when you’re at the range, you can shoot your guns dry, leave, and come back to them at max ammo, right?” “Oh… that’s right. It was like that in the game as well.” “I tried it out with the pistol first. I shot it until I was out of ammo, left the gun on the ground, and then left the range… What do you think happened?” “… What happened?” “A fully loaded pistol appeared in Nick’s hand. I went back inside, and the empty gun was still just lying there.” “… Whoa, no kidding! That means you can generate endless guns like that!” “Bingo! Awesome, right? Just like you said, we can do that to get as many guns as we want. But it seems like we can only duplicate guns available at the range, so I couldn’t get any more combat knives. I’ve seen similar bugs in other games, so that got me thinkin’ if I could get it to work here… but there you have it.”

There were no other words other than “smug” to describe Kiryū’s face. I took a careful look and noticed all of the soldiers were wielding assault rifles with unlimited ammo. Not only that, but every soldier had a bedsheet baby sling and a Nick on their backs. We had more in our army than I could count. There were at least twenty of them in the room.

“Wait, what about the five-follower limit… Oh, I get it! Nick’s a player character too!” “That’s exactly it. Each Nick we have, we get five more soldiers.” “Awesome! We’re duplicating everything!” “Pretty good thinking, eh?” “Oh, boy, this is going to be so much fun!” “I hate to admit it, but I’m getting a little excited too.” “… What in heaven’s name are you talking about…?”

Left behind in our excitement was Elizabeth, who didn’t understand any of it. Someone who doesn’t even know who Sera is of course wouldn’t know anything about zombie games. It took a thorough explanation of the game’s system for her to finally follow along.

“I see. Well, in any case, it’s plain to see you have accomplished something incredible. Still, why has Nick multiplied?” “When I began to take Nick away from start of this level, the game kept wanting to return Nick to the proper spawn location for the level change. And since there wasn’t a limit, I just kept doing it until I had about twenty Nicks.” “How curious. Nick would disappear from your hands and be returned to the spawn area… is that not a little weird?” “Well, it’s a bug. Normally in the game, it’s neither possible to leave a gun at the range nor is it to take the protagonist away before the game even starts. Can’t say I’ve expected any of this to happen the way it did.” “This world is very curious indeed. Kinda makes you wish that the creators made up their mind whether they wanted a survival horror or a sci-fi game. Oh, right! Let’s dupe the grenade launcher afterwards. We shouldn’t have access it to it just yet, but I’ve got an idea how to get our hands on one.” “What are you planning on doing with all this firepower…?”

After seeing the sly smiles on our faces, Elizabeth was utterly fed up with us. However, seeing where we were now, what other choices did we have? We’re gamers after all.

“First, let’s go and beat this game. You don’t know what that’s like though, right, Elizabeth? We’re going to take total control of this zombie-infested world with our superior firepower. Maybe on your first time here, someone else went and cleared the game and that’s how you got out. You never know.”

As soon as I said that, a terrible roar echoed in the background.

■Kiryū, II

A software engineer who is… supposedly very cautious. Nevertheless, he lets his guard down around Sera, but that should prove to be fine. Thirty years of age but acts like a smug twenty-three-year-old when he discovers bugs. Kiryū may seem to be too cruel towards Elizabeth, but perhaps he is normally this suspicious towards women—or rather, anybody. Though it may be inevitable due to personal reasons, nevertheless, it does not detract from the fact that he is too wary.

contents: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /next/

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[ohmygraysonsthighs]

Stick and Poke

A/N: holy beejezus!!! thank you all again for all the support you’ve been showing my writing I love all y'all. if you don’t know what a stick and poke is it’ll be explained in the story type thing idk what to call it lmao. sO like always I hope this isn’t too shitty!!

You and your boyfriend sat on the couch watching some old movie that was on. It was any old Saturday afternoon, but you were both content. As you began to pay less and less attention to the movie, you scanned Grayson’s face, tracing his jawline, poking his cheekbones, etc.

“Whaat are you doing.” Grayson mumbled, eyes trained on the screen as your pointer finger poked the shell of his ear.

“I’m bored.”

“Just watch the movie.” You huffed and snuggled closer to his buff body. He grabbed one of your hands as the other started tracing his thigh tattoo.

“I like this one. Pretty colors. How many tattoos do you have?” You questioned.

“Ah. A good amount.”

“Do you want more?”

“Probably.”

You pondered. “Can I give you one?”

“What?”

“Can I give you a tattoo? Like a stick and poke?”

“A stick and who?”

You rolled your eyes. “A stick and poke. You go through all these procedures to make sure you sterilize and clean a sewing or whatever needle, tie some thread around the base, tape it to a pencil, clean the area of skin you want it on, put a little Vaseline over that, dip your needle in a permanent ink, and bam! Do it yourself tattoo.” You smiled up at him and he gave you a quizzical look.

“How do you know how to do this? What if it’s not safe?”

“It’s pretty safe and I have a few you big goof. You ever seen this little guy,” you pointed to the small Saturn on the side of your pinky “he’s a stick and poke.”

“How bad does it hurt?”

“Worse than a regular tattoo. You’re literally poking the holes repeatedly into your skin with a needle, and you have to go over it a few times for it to show up. But it’s completely bearable!” You said, hoping to convince him. It’d be more interesting than the movie flashing on the television.

“I don’t know. Sounds kinda sketchy.”

“C'mon! It’ll be fun!” You pleaded with your eyes and you knew he’d give in.

“Fine. I’m picking the design though.”

“Aw, Gray, you trust me! Exactly the support needed in a relationship, love it. Now get up big boy, we gotta go to the craft store.” You slapped his thick thigh and he followed you up.

Upon returning from your local craft store, in your bag were sewing needles, thread, wooden pencils (“How on earth do you not keep wooden pencils in your home?”), and ink. The rest of the stuff needed to accomplish the stick and poke was already in the Dolan household. You did everything you had to to create a clean area and prepared the needle. Currently you and Grayson sat on the floor of his living room as you sterilized the spot he wanted (his upper right calf) and drew the design of his choice (a small ‘surfs up’ emoji-looking hand).

“You sure you’re ready?” You asked, blotting the Vaseline over where you were going to puncture his skin.

“Bro you’re the one that convinced me to do this, why are you making me second guess this?”

“Habit I guess,” you chuckled as you slapped the Vaseline-slick area, “alright, let’s do tha thang!” You joked and Grayson rolled his eyes. “Ew.”

Gray watched you as you steadied the needle over where it was going to first pierce. And then you poked an ink filled hole. And again. And again. To get your face closer to the area for better precision, you lay on your stomach across his lap.

“Ow Y/N. Ow Y/N. Ow Y/N.” Grayson complained. “This hurts a lot worse than I was expecting why would you ever want to do this.”

“For the experience I guess. And because there was no way in hell my mom was letting me get a real tattoo.” You said shrugging, all while continuing your work. The first layer was finished and any ink left on the surface of his skin was wiped off. It was pretty splotchy and not opaque at all, of course, so you applied more Vaseline to the section for layer two.

“Stop doing that. It’s making the ink bleed and I can’t see the pattern.” You said, referring to his hand that was stretching the skin, attempting to relieve the pain.

“Well where am I supposed to put my h-.” Grayson stopped mid sentence and brought both hands down on your ass cheeks, making you let out a yelp. “This is a lot better actually.” He said, squeezing and massaging both cheeks.

“Grayson!”

“What? You said not to stretch the skin and I’m not. Well, not my skin anyways. Plus I like touching your butt,” He slapped your ass, “it jiggles very nicely.” You gave him a stern look and he returned a toothy smile. Shaking your head, you returned to the task at hand. About 15 minutes later, you finished and wiped the last layer, revealing to Grayson the masterpiece.

“Wow. That’s actually really good. How do you have the patience to make and repeat all those little dots? You should be a tattoo artist.” He stated.

“I don’t know. You’re welcome by the way. And you said it was sketchy.” You said, shoving him.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, your turn.”

“What?”

“I said, your turn.”

“No I heard you. You think you’re gonna give me one?”

“Yes, definitely. You convinced me to do this so now I have to return the favor. So teach me how to do that little thing with a new needle.” You looked at him as if he had just said the moon was turning purple and contemplated if it was worth fighting against. It wasn’t, and you sagged your shoulders in defeat.

“Fine.” You dragged. He gave another toothy smiled and you mimicked one back as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips.

“I get to pick out the design and where it is, right?” You asked after he’d finished making the makeshift tattoo gun.

“Nope.”

“Garyyyyy why I had a perfect one picked out. I was gonna do a lil 'rock on’ hand.” You pouted.

“We can do that one next. But I have the perfect idea for the first one that I’m giving you.”

“And that is?”

“A little 'G’ on the inside of your left thigh. That way, when I’m eating you out I can always be reminded of who that pussy belongs to.” He smirked as you looked at him with wide eyes. Well shit Gary you didn’t need to do me like that.

“Hm. I uh, I like the way you think.” You said as the goosebumps in your arms settled down.

“You always do.” He gestured you to lay down and he snuck up between your legs, spreading them. You got goosebumps all over again because of how close he was to your most intimate area (nothing new), but that was not the current task at hand. Gray went through the same procedures as you did with him, always checking if he was doing anything wrong (of course he wasn’t, has that boy ever done anything wrong).

“Okee, I’m going in.” He chuckled and his hot breath sent a little something to your core.

“Don’t breathe too heavily. You’re making me wet and the last thing I wanna be as your poking holes into my skin is horny.” He made eye contact with you, his eyes noticeably a little darker. He nodded as you gulped.

He punctured the first hole and repeated. This hurt a lot worse than any of the other stick and pokes you’ve gotten because of how sensitive the area was.

“Grayson. Grayson this really hurts.” You whined.

“It’s ok baby. Be good for daddy.” He mumbled as he was in deep concentration.

“You’re too kinky for this shit.”

“You right.” The first layer was over and he began the second layer.

“Fucking- it’s not hurting any less.” You groaned.

“Grab something.” Your hands traveled down to his head and grabbed his luscious brunette locks. “Mmm I love it when you grab my hair.” He hummed. He rubbed the inside of your other thigh with his thumb as he finished the second, then third, then fourth, then finally sixth layer. Grayson kissed the inside of your thigh and popped his head up.

“Ok, done! You can look now.” You took a peek at the surprisingly opaque and somewhat neat 'G’ that has now made its home on your inner left thigh. It was kinda hot honestly. You looked up at Grayson, pride shinning through his eyes and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Very impressive for your first one.”

“Thank you madame.” He bowed.

“Ya know, I don’t think I can walk much because my thighs will rub together and that’ll hurt like a bitch.” You said matter of factly.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to be keeping your legs wide open a lot more often now.”

A/N: hi again so a couple things I wanted to say. first of all, I intentionally put Gary I thought it’d be funny. second of all, I’m sorry how short it is compared to my other (two lmao) stuff but I DID write a smut part to this I just didn’t add it because idk but if you want to read it or want it to be posted LET ME KNOW!! k thank you for reading ly!!

[hunterbahamut]

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Here is part four to “Origins”.

This part I feel like is a bit different from the rest as it’s meant to cover some key moments, so the pacing feels a little different to me, but I think the story is still going to be good. This part also incorporates the last of the old writing I did a while back.

I hope you enjoy!

--

The Great Tunnel in the SnowIron Mountains is a large tunnel that through the mountains, connecting the Northern Territories with the rest of the mainland.  The Tunnel itself is massive, not only is it big enough for two-way traffic, but lining the tunnel is a complete row of different businesses: shops, inns and hotels, restaurants, taverns, many who capitalize on  the new traffic.

The Tunnel was a joint project with the dwarves and the alliance races of the mainland many years ago, and has since become a historical landmark.  In order to protect the tunnel and the denizens of it, modern traffic is usually not allowed to go through under their own power. Because of this, many people use more traditional or 'analog' modes of transportation, from wagons and animals to bikes, or just on foot.

- -

Lan was wide-eyed as she looked around the tunnel as they started their way in.  "Wow...this is amazing." The tunnel was completely lit with an impressive array of torch lights along the high walls and ceiling, the warm light filling the bare stone and the cobblestone walkways and paved streets.  The place echoed with the sounds from the people and the light traffic of wagons, carts and bikes traveling along.

Gene looked over to her with a wide smile on his face.  "It really is, dwarves know how to build things to last."

"I've always seen pictures of this place," Lan said, still looking around, "But...well, I never thought I would ever be up this far to see it myself!  This is just so impressive."

"Well, now you can say you've been here!" The white hybrid smiled wide to her.

Lan nodded, "How long does it take to walk through to the other side?"

Gene thought about it for a moment. "Well, on foot, if traffic is good and you don't make any extra stops...a few days, two at least?  I know I've made it in that time, but that was usually when I was in a hurry."

Lan twitched her ears, wondering if he was also referring to his time up coming to get her. "But it's faster by wagon imagine?"

"Oh yeah, you can shave off a good amount of time that way if you do it right."  Gene nodded, his head, "Speaking of, when we stop for the night, I'm gonna ask around and see if anyone would be willing to give us a ride here and maybe to the nearest town.  Might have to do some bartering, but I don't think we have to worry too much."

Lan twitched her ears, looking over to him as he spoke. "Barter?  Really?"

"Yeah, some people who are a little more...I guess you could say they're a bit more practical, preferring some useful items over money.  I...think we should be able to find someone willing to help out."

"But that means giving up some of our supplies." She said.

Gene nodded, "Yeah, but it won't be a problem." He looked over to her and smiled, trying to reassure her, "Don't worry, I think we should be able to resupply once we're in the next town."

Lan went quiet and she nodded, looking around a bit again.  There really was no way to shake the guilty feeling she had since their first night back in Norwatch.  She had known Gene for only a little before, but now...he had come up to rescue her and has stayed with her all this time, helping her and never once did he seem like he was expecting anything in return.  She wanted to help out or repay him in some way, but she had no idea how, or if she could.

In the Tunnel, it was hard to tell when night time came, so there were many clocks by different stores and at normal intervals down the street, so when it started to get late, the duo stopped at another inn for the night.  The sign on this one just read 'The Tunnel Stop', but Lan saw the feather on the sign, remember what Gene had told her before.  Even though they had not encountered any trouble since the left Norwatch, there was a rather nice sense of safety seeing that.

There was also something interesting and sort of surreal sleeping in a nice room knowing that they were underneath an entire mountain.

While Lan slept, Gene went out and started to talk to a few in the nearby taverns, and he was fortunate to find a dwarven merchant that was traveling their way, and he was more than happy to help the two out.  In the morning, the two got ready and hopped a ride in the merchant's sturdy wagon pulled by an even sturdier looking goat and they headed off. The ride wasn't only faster, but it was a nice relief for the two, giving the two of them a much needed break.

"So, where are y'two headed?"  The dwarf asked, looking back at the two as they sat back in the large cargo area of the wagon.

"Trying to head to Atlantia." Gene said as he got comfortable on one of the larger crates, resting back.

"Atlantia, eh?" The sandy-haired dwarf replied. "Aye, y' have quite a trek 'head ya still!"

"Yeah, we do." Gene gave a small laugh, though he looked over to Lan for a moment before he picked the conversation back up. "What about you?"

"Oooh, got business down in New Bethal." The dwarf said, "Should b' headin' in the direction ye need to go."

"Yeah, that will definitely get us closer."

The dwarf nodded, "Though, s'posin' yer interested, New Bethal does 'ave a train station der."

Both Lan and Gen perked their ears. "There is?" Lan asked.

"Aye. Ridden in it a few times m'self.  Goes 'cross the mainland and makes quite a few stops.  Reckon dat if ye wanted, y'kin take that and reach Atlantia in a few days."

Gene and Lan looked at each other. "Could we afford it?" Lan asked. Gene was quiet and he thought about it, "...maybe?  I know I don't have that much on me...and we could sell some of other supplies, but I dunno if it would be enough for tickets."

The dwarf listened quietly to the two before he spoke up. "Well, I might b' able t' help y' out there. I happen t'ave m' tickets fer the train with me.  I woudn' mind givin' t' ye."

"Really?" Lan asked, starting to sound hopeful.

"Are you sure?" Gene asked, sounding a little more concerned.

"Oh aye, I dun' mind." The dwarf said, letting out a heavy laugh. "I dun 'ave any plans t' be going that way fer a while, would much prefer them gettin' used than sittin' with me."  He turned to look back at the two, "I wouldn' mind helpin' y'folks out."

Gene looked over to Lan again, seeing the hopeful look she had on her face and he nodded his head. "Well...thank you, though I really don't want you to be left completely empty-handed."  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch, reaching in and pulling out a few metallic coins.

Seeing the coins made the dwarf smile and laugh.  "I thought I smelled somethin'.  Ye'd b' too kind, m' friend."

Lan looked confused and she moved in to get a closer look, Gene seeing her and he shifted a bit nervously. "They're gold coins."

“What?” She blinked, "You actually have gold?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I keep some on me if I ever need some extra money. By themselves they are...I won't say worthless, just hard to use.  Some people do still use them for varying reasons though."

The dwarf laughed, "Oh aye, dwarves especially. We b' stubborn like that."  He took the coins from Gene and he started to search through a case he had up front with him, actually setting the reins aside to do so.  His goat didn't seem to mind, as it kept moving forward unaffected as the dwarf rummaged around before he let out an "Ah-ah!" as he found the tickets, handing them to the hybrid.

"Thanks so much!" Gene said, "We really appreciate this!"

"Yes, thank you!" Lan added on, "This really helps out a lot!"

- -

Thanks to their new dwarven friend, travel into the next town went by much faster for them, instead of taking a week or longer, it was only a few days before they came back to more familiar and modern surroundings. They said their final thanks and farewells before they started to rush for the train station.  It was mostly out of excitement for Lan, as well as hoping they could get on to the next train as soon as possible.

They entered the train station and Lan looked around; something caught her attention and she let out a small gasp. "Gene!  Do you have any spare money?"

"Huh?" He asked, pausing for a moment, "I...think I have some, yeah."  He pulled out some of change and small bills he head.  Before he could ask though, Lan took the money and started to head off. "Thank you!  I'll be right back!" Gene blinked a little, looking confused. "Uh...okay?  I'll head to the clerk and meet you there."

He headed over to the front desk and provided them with the tickets and started to get everything settled, though he couldn't help but wonder what Lan was doing.  By the time he finished up, Lan came running back, smiling wide. "Okay!  Are we ready?"

"Yeah." Gene said, "The next train is gonna leave pretty soon."  He started to lead the way to their platform, looking back to Lan. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes!" Lan said, "I saw that they actually had some phones here, so I called everyone back home to let them know I was okay and I'm coming back soon!"

"Oooh...oh right."  Gene said, feeling embarrassed that he didn't even think of that. "Well...it's gonna be another few days at least...but at least we won't have to walk anymore."

"A few days still?" Lan asked.

"Well...we are still pretty far north, but it shouldn't be too bad now." Gene smiled, "And..well, our dwarf friend gave us a bit more, so the trip will be a little more relaxing." Lan gave him a confused look and he just snickered, "You'll see what I mean, don't worry!"

The reached the right platform and the train was already in, so they were able to board and headed for their car. Lan was a little surprised to see that they were passing the normal seating and headed to the back.  These later cars looked a bit different, and soon she realized why.  These were design like the older cars, where there were 'rooms', closed off by a sliding door and the room had two longer seats facing each other, which looked like they could double as beds.  That means that they would bearable to ride without worrying about other people.

"Oh wow." Lan said quietly in surprise.

"Yeah...the few gold coins I gave him don't feel like enough now." Gene let out a laugh and stepped into the room after Lan, looking around. "Well...guess that means we can get comfortable for the rest of the journey."

Lan nodded and she took a deep breath as she sat down, hoping to get comfortable.

It was a bit of a wait, but soon the train started up, blowing the whistle before it started to move.  The two watched out the window and watched as the train pulled out from the station, moving out of the city and into the open.

"And we're on our way." Gene said, "Last leg of the journey."

"Yeah..." Lan said, sounding concerned all of a sudden.

Gene looked over to her her, "What's wrong?"

"Just thinking..." Lan said, sitting back, "All this time...and we haven't run into any trouble.  No one seems to have been coming after us, no one seemed to be looking, it all just feels too...too..."

"Easy?"

She nodded, "That's what it feels like.  I didn't think of this before, but...who's to say that they won't come after me again?"

Gene was quiet, "Honestly...I don't know.  I just...get the feeling that they won't."  He sighed, "Knowing the ones that caught you before, I don't think they'd risk doing that again, and, with any luck, the dwarves of the mountains there are gonna check that facility out and probably deal with the ones there.  So...I think you're gonna be okay."

Lan sighed quietly, "I hope so.  Still wish I knew why they even came after me."

Gene twitched his ears, "...yeah, me too."

The train ride itself was comfortable for the two, and soon the worries they shared was replaced with calm, and then excitement. While they did have to make a few stops at other stations along the way, it didn't take long before they started to see the familiar skyline of Lan's hometown.

The wait seemed almost unbearable to Lan, she was finally home and this whole ordeal could be put behind her now. Gene though...he couldn't help but feel a little sad.  He looked over to her as she watched out the window; if circumstances had been different, he would have asked her if she wanted to keep going...but he couldn't do that.  A sinking feeling started to develop in his stomach.

The train finally pulled into the station and Gene followed Lan as she hurried out and off of the train.  She started to look around the station a bit, her ears and tail twitching until she let out a small yip in excitement. "There they are!" Gene stepped out after and looked up, watching her as she rushed over to a group of people.   They must have been Lan's family and friends; when they saw her, they all rushed over to greet her.

Gene couldn't help but smile wide and he stayed back, watching as she was reunited with everyone.  He was so happy for her after everything and he was glad that he was helped her through it all, but he couldn't shake the sad and bittersweet feeling that was coming over him.   It had been so long since he had traveled with a companion and this whole adventure was nice and fun, especially since he got to do it with someone that he cared about, even though he could never admit that to her. But now that journey was over; she was home and back to her life with all her friends and family.  Even after everything; getting to spend time with Lan and getting to know her better, deep down he had to accept the realization that there was no way he could fit into that: it was a world that he couldn’t be a part of, no matter how much he wanted to be.

He stayed back and watched as Lan was hugged and continually asked about what happened.  He felt like he shouldn't hang around too long...maybe he should make a silent exit. "Take care of yourself, Lan." He said quietly, "Have a great life." He took in a deep breath before he turned and silently lost himself in the surrounding crowd.

She was excited and happy to be back home and seeing everyone was a massive relief to her, Lan smiled and hugged her parents and friends, but she tried not to get too swept up in all of the excitement.  She wanted to give Gene a proper thanks.  She tried to turn to introduce everyone to him, but she paused and blinked, looking around for the white hybrid, but he was gone. "Gene?"